


Trauma

by Infinitefleurs



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, I'm sorry?, This is kinda sad i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 22:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13936983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinitefleurs/pseuds/Infinitefleurs
Summary: trauma (trau·ma)↳ /ˈtroumə,ˈtrômə/→ a deeply distressing or disturbing experience ; physical injury





	Trauma

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really care much for Hotline Miami anymore, although it does hold a special place in my heart. Regardless, I wrote this two years ago I think? And I promised myself I'd rewrite it, so here it is.

_ “Hey, doc! When's this bastard going to wake up?” _ _  
_

_ “I don't know... He's been in a coma for weeks now.” _ _  
_

_ “But he is going to wake up... right? This guy is a prime suspect in a major case!” _ _  
_

_ “Look, my guess is as good as yours! Though I can say it might be a while. He's still not fully healed from the surgery…” _

_ “Is there nothing you can do? We need this guy! You people weren't able to save his girlfriend... I mean, we've got the perp who shot 'em in the locker. But that asshole ain't saying shit!” _ _  
_

_ “And what makes you think this guy will..?” _

* * *

Jacket was exhausted. His entire body was heavy and it felt like someone had bashed his head in with a lead pipe. Is that how the Russians he’s been killing felt? Regardless, it wasn’t easy sneaking away from both the police and a few doctors when it felt like his knees were about to give out every five steps.

What was even longer was the walk he had to take back to his apartment. The hospital gown he had left in wasn’t exactly comfortable. What it was, exactly, was eye catching. But he didn’t really care about the weird looks he got. He just wanted to get back to his place and rest up. Then he’d go after the bastard that thought he could try to clip him and get away with it.

After walking for what seemed like an eternity, the familiar sight of his apartment building soon came into view. He sighs in relief, but he soon comes to a stop when he sees the sight before him. His car.

It was completely trashed.

Windows smashed, a missing door, and graffiti spray painted all over. The word ‘whore’ written on the hood. Real classy. Nevertheless, the sight was still...disappointing? Jacket couldn’t word it. He felt a small pang hit his heart. The car had been his pride and joy for years. Sure it had been on the slide now, but he still very much cared for it. Seeing it in this state was...disheartening.

Pushing it aside for now, Jacket walks in the building. He ignores the horrified look of the doorman and walks right up to his apartment. The door had been blocked off with police tape. When were the police there? And why? Jacket was too tired to care. He tears off the tape and walks in. Immediately, he’s on edge.

_ Something was wrong _ .

The scent of blood hung thickly in the air. And was the apartment always this messy? That was impossible. Donna would’ve blown a fuse. And that’s when it hit him.

_ Donna. _ She had been hurt. There were still a lot of pieces in his head that didn’t quite fit but she was hurt and he blacked out before he could call for help. Had she been taken to the hospital? For god’s sake he couldn’t even remember if it was a serious injury. What did that make him…?

Although his voice was hoarse, and it hurt to even speak, he calls out. “Donna? Are you home?”

He waits. No answer. Maybe she was asleep? He hurries over to the bedroom and stops in his tracks. The bedsheets were stripped from the bed. Gone. Jacket could swear his heart was about to burst out of his chest.

He walks to the bathroom next. Something was horribly wrong. There was an awful feeling in his chest. Without realizing his hands were incredibly shaky, he knocks on the door. He swallows hard when there was no response. Opening the door, which had been, if he wasn’t concerned enough, unlocked.

Nothing, and absolutely nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

It was a chalk outline of a woman. Was that hers…? No. Jacket couldn’t believe it. He refused to. Donna  _ wasn’t _ dead. But then who else could this have been?

Thoughts were starting to swim in Jacket’s head. Too many thoughts all at once. His head was spinning again and just like that he’s on his knees. Everything was coming back to him so quickly. How everything just...happened.

How he came home that night and the same dread he felt now was hanging in the air. How the eerie silence in the apartment was almost deafening. The horror he felt when he saw Donna on the bathroom floor, bleeding and unconscious. The adrenaline he felt when he rushed towards the living room to call for an ambulance. The...anger he felt when he was confronted by the bastard in the rat mask. He had been holding a gun. Probably the same gun that shot Donna.

The gun was in his hands. The motive was clear.

_ “Ah, there you are! I was wondering when you'd be getting back. Well, let's get this over with then…” _

Jacket could hear the loud ringing in his ears. He hadn’t even registered the man talking, or the fact that the gun was aimed to him. Everything went black in an instant.

* * *

 

_ “Looks like it's only you and me left now... I'm sure you know by now, that this won't end well. Soon you will be all alone. But that's okay. Before we say goodbye, I'll let you in on a secret...What you do from here on, won't serve any purpose. You will never see the whole picture. And it's all your own fault. Now it's time for you to leave. There's a warm bed across the hall from here... And you look like you could use some rest.” _

* * *

 

And Donna, she...she really was dead. Jacket couldn’t find it in him to cry. It was all his fault. He couldn’t save her this time. It wasn’t...fair. He had done it before so why didn’t he now? She had been counting on him and he couldn’t even be there for her when she needed him most.

Pressing two fingers to his lips, then pressing them to the center of the outline, where her lips should’ve been, he sighs. Swallowing hard, he whispers something to someone who would never hear it.

_ “I’m sorry.” _


End file.
